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Afternoon under still troubled clouds. Sun piercing through, drying wet old roads. A black cat strolling down the small fence separating meadows along imaginary borders. Shadows of trees, and always an uncanny feeling of the known unknown in places mostly owned by years bygone.

Milchige Sonne, der Vormittag bleibt stumm. Zu viele redundante Worte, Schnecken in nassem Grün. Windböen, Dissonanz und Eschenzweige. Ein innerer Kobold kichert frech.

Past 8am and watching birds through misty windows. The greyness of dust in harmony with the skies. Waiting for the weather to make its decisions while the village just moves on.